1 v 1 Vice v. Cipher Nex

[Call me J]

This battle will end in two weeks. Best of luck to both competitors.

[Zephyriah]

People of Althanas, as well as denizens of other worlds were all the same, running about their daily lives like hamsters on a wheel. Tasks of gathering food, conversing with companions, earning a living, and even relaxing from a myriad of monotonous activities all stemmed from the established formula that the Thaynes or gods programmed into all planet dwellers no matter where they resided. No body questioned its logic or stability, but deduced that because the system in place was there for a reason and that the best course of action was to simply deal with it.

Dealing with life. Was it in fact futile to change the deeply rooted core aspects of life? Such a concept seemed inconceivable and downright preposterous to most individuals, a crazed theory spawning from the minds of wild haired, crooked toothed philosophers that had nothing better to do with their time other than sit comfortably in the confines of a luxurious domicile with their legs crossed, a cup of tea in their hand, and their pinky finger arrogantly erected. Maybe this was true to a certain extent, but certainly not entirely.

Raizo Steelfist could be considered the exception to the rule. He was a large and powerful man within the upper echelion of the committee that organized the Serenti and Lornius Corporate Challenge tournaments. The length of his money was acres long which of course, granted him access to the finest material things life had to offer, as well as a flock of sniveling weasel-type acquaintances who possessed deep pockets yet a shallow mind. He couldn’t stand the lot of them, but recognized that maintaining the bridges of these relationships would allow him to utilize their resources whenever appropriate.

Power. That was Raizo’s fix. Those that obtained the ability to control others fascinated the elitist beyond all comprehension. But not simply cantankerous barbarians that used the primitive tool of unnecessary and outlandish violence, but those that adeptly worked behind the scene, pulling the strings that connected indirectly to people’s lives. Enigmatic conventions that would seize a percentage of a planet’s food, which would then slash market profits and increase prices, which would ultimately enslave the people to starvation. Such movers and shakers had the real blueprints for world domination. Fool proof stratagems that protected them at every angle so that even if a rather intelligent fellow some how deciphered their convoluted mechanism of deception, the decipherer’s evidence wouldn’t be fathomable to the masses. This absolute, fascist clutch of control was what Raizo desperately desired for it was the only thing that his hands hadn’t grasped yet, a lone dream that lingered in the cosmos waiting to be realized.

The fit elderly man leered out of the window of his office at the mountainous terrain that surrounded the plain fields that hugged the base of his ostentatious mansion. The natural stone structures as well as everything else in the world of nature were being savagely stricken by heavy rain. Such weather conditions infuriated him since he knew that any plans that he wished to advance were likely to be put on hold. “Rain makes people lazy.” The massive man scowled, turning his back to the large window. In no way was he referring to himself, but instead the pawns that were working to aid him in his goals. Most were gullible humans that were slaves of the life formula. Raizo passed off as one, but his lineage was attached to a stronger, greater race: The Mal’sin.

There wasn’t a soul on Althanas that knew what really hid far beneath the thick flesh and solid muscles of the intimidating gentleman save for one man whom Raizo only partially disclosed information to. “He will be my weapon again. My agent of destruction and chaos.” The front lip of Steelfist curled upward revealing a row of abnormally sharp teeth. Despite the conditions outside, he had done enough thus far to give his ploys the fuel needed to steam through any quandary. He’d been secretly backing the Vice organization financially and had finally gotten the stubborn Max Dirks to develop some level of trust for him. He knew it wasn’t where it needed to be, but was well aware that as long as he delivered on his promise to provide a suitable warrior to join the elicit entrepreneur's cause in the new Conquest Trials tournament, then all would be well.

The chess game was on, and Raizo Steelfish was determined to become victorious.

* * *

There was but only so many words that I could use to describe how uncomfortable I was, having found myself walking in the middle of Treynce, amongst a crowd of pale faced and blond haired elves. The land of Raiaera had seen many wars and tasted the blood of countless fallen soldiers. So much so that some of the continent’s locals toyed with the theory that Lindqualme’s shrubbery had adopted a sanguine hue, not because of a Forgotten One’s curse, but because of the blood that elven soil had soaked up over the centuries. I hadn’t been well trained in the deep historical background of Raiaera, but only possessed cursory knowledge of it all. Unfortunately, my own actions had contributed to such a barbarous history, having once taking the life of Turlin Headmaster Urondir Fararion, the father of my half brother.

Xirei and I came to terms a long time ago, since his blade had also cut down my father. However, the chance that Raiaeran citizens would take such an approach and sprinkle grace upon my head was extremely slim. Both drows and elves were known to hold unnaturally long grudges, mentally chronicling everything about the wrong deed that one had done, from the way a person’s countenance was displayed during the incident, and even the number of times one batted his or her eyelash. Being of dark elven descent myself, that nasty trait resided in me as well, but not to the extent that it did in the Aleraran and Raiaeran natives.

And so, I continued sauntering the streets of the thriving city with the hood of my beige cloak over my head, shrouding my face in obscurity. It’d been years since trekking an elven metropolis, but a face such as mine would not be hard to identify. “So this is Hooligan's Tavern,” Gazing up at the building, it became quite apparent that this establishment was not one of the wealthier pubs of the city. A shabby structure that certainly favored the unsavory looking characters that frequented it.

Inconspicuously, I scanned my surroundings, looking for a specific person that would be wearing a bright yellow cloak. For the past several weeks I'd been receiving these strange missives. Each one detailed how it was imperative that I meet with some individual by the name of Slender since he had information regarding Victor Ablione, my father. At first I took it as nothing more than a childish joke since my father had been dead for several years now. However, my skeptical eyes quickly turned into globular organs of astonishment when this mysterious writer begun revealing personal information about him and I that no outsider would have any chance of knowing. Immediately I thought that perhaps the writer was an old Rune Paladin that’d defected from the city’s military in order to disclose and expose some scheme that high ranking priests were planning on carrying out against my mother, who took the reigns of leadership after father had died.

But then I came to my senses.

“So now they’re trying a different approach in order to apprehend me for killing those foolish priests so long ago. Heh, what sly dogs.”

Some of the messages in the letters were esoteric, but there was a high probability that when this mystifying individual showed his face, the weight of my blade against his neck would squeeze his identity and purpose right out of his throat. Issues like these were beyond irritating since it was difficult to make logical sense out of them. Who was really behind all of this? Was it in fact one of the old paladins, or was this simply the work of some angst filled financially struggling journalist with a penchant for scoping out the hardened warriors of Althanas in order to get an exclusive? The answers obviously did not rest with me, but I had a feeling that I would acquire them shortly. As for now, I leaned up against the tavern’s wooden siding, trying to keep my head down just low enough so that I could see who was walking by without any onlookers being able to recognize me.

Patience was the selected action in this predicament, but the reddish yellow hue of the late afternoon sky and the increasing tavern traffic would make it a hard action to stay committed to.

[Slayer of the Rot]

All was silent but the whispering of the wind and the crunch of ice frosted snow under his feet.

The sun was nothing but dull, shining gray fire behind the thick blanket of dismal clouds in the sky. Fat lazy flakes of white still drifted down to the earth, and they stood harshly out from the twisting spire of smoke that reached up into the Salvarian morning sky. An odd absence of emotion had seized his body as he'd cut through the air and finally landed on the spot the alchemist had told him he could find his daughter. It felt as though the cold had managed to sneak through his skin and invade his guts. Even his blood felt like ice, and Dan Lagh'ratham couldn't say he felt the biting chill of the sudden gust of wind that surged and died within a moment, sending the stink of burnt wood to his nose.

He wasn't aware in the slightest that he had stopped until his mind finally registered that the orphanage wasn't coming any closer. Still, he couldn't manage to force his legs to move. All the strength in the world, and he could not uproot himself from where he watched the building smolder. All the Saraelian could manage to do was blink with widened eyes and pant, though he did not realize how hard he was breathing, even though each exhale clouded his vision with great frosty white plumes.

Finally, he lurched forward with two stumbling steps, and his arms flailed out, as though to ward from a fall. Regaining his balance, he began to sprint, throwing showers of displaced snow in his wake. 'Don't be stupid,' he scolded himself, 'These things happen. Maybe one of the children was fiddling with fireballs and sparked a fire. She's safe, she's safe, of course, she's safe, nothing could have happened to her...' But the closer he came to the wreckage of the orphanage, he still could see no movement, save for the rising smoke, and the occasional tumbling brick, falling from one of the destroyed walls.

Panic finally broke the numb static that had muffled his thoughts and Dan leaped into the ruin, clawing through piles of sooty brick and charred wood, all dusted with snow. In his desperation, the Saraelian was almost more dangerous than he was enraged. Moving with reckless abandon as his distress increased, he knocked down walls, tore down the remainder of doors.

Soon enough, all was quiet but the whispering of the wind.

Snow settled gently on his shoulders, and melted as it brushed against his face. Nothing. There was nothing here but the broken and burnt refuse of an orphanage. The skeletons of grimy box springs lay in the room next to him. Scattered around their legs were stained cloth dolls with red patches on their cheeks, half eaten by the fire. Some wooden figurines of knights were almost untouched by the broken window. Dan wandered which of the destroyed toys his daughter had played with, and with that thought, he threw his head back and bellowed his rage and his grief into the cold, gray Salvarian morning sky.

Fury swirled in his body as he folded back in on himself, making his limbs shake. It was at that strange moment that a gleam caught his eye. During his panicked search, plenty of things had shone in the dim sunlight; tools from the kitchen, little hair barrettes, coins. But there was something about this that drew him, and Dan snatched the thing out of the snow and the soot.

It was a short iron dagger that he couldn't help but recognize even before looking at the pommel, but he turned the weapon over, anyway. There, etched by a long gone merchant's hands, was a symbol he knew well enough; "BB".

"Bastards," he rasped in the cold silence. He'd heard they'd come back under new management, but this sort of destruction and brutality was unheard of from the clan. And where was his daughter?

Where was his daughter?!

His thumb turned white as it curled and pressed against the black iron blade, and the dagger broke in two with a bitter snap. Nothing brought him pleasure now but the thought of the faceless and nameless Bandit Brotherhood's leader's neck breaking in the same. He was going to kill them, all of them; down to every cut throat recruit they'd managed to scrape up into their ranks. And the timing couldn't be better...he was just on his way to the Conquest of Trials with the rest of Cipher Nex when he'd decided to take this side trip. By now, Christopher Knighton would be clashing with the first of Vice's army grunts. And the leader of Vice? Max Dirks, a name that almost managed to eclipse the animosity he now felt for the Bandit Brotherhood. It would feel good to break Vice's army's ranks, and break Dirk's spirits. White snow and black soot scattered in a cloud as Dan shot through the air, intent on finding the chef and aiding him.

Because to get to the Bandit Brotherhood, he needed to wipe Vice off of the face of Althanas, and Thayne help whoever got in his way.
_____

Despite keeping the odd chef in mind, the cold winds whipping at his face had warmed considerably as white gave way to green gave way to blue gave way to green again. "God damn it," he mumbled, squinting down at the land passing below him as he continued his path through the sky at a greatly diminished pace. While he'd be too stubborn to admit it himself, the anger he'd let rampage through his head had managed to muddle his thoughts enough that he'd gotten himself hopelessly turned around. Halting his flight altogether, Dan Lagh'ratham hovered over the city he'd spotted moments ago, and tugged at the collar of the suit he'd been given by the Black.

Unlike the time in the Pagoda, Christopher was far more capable of handling himself. The chef would be fine without him; the Saraelian could slack off and drink a bit...

The wind rushed around him and flapped at the loose bits of his suit as he dropped from the sky. A push against the stone of the city cushioned his landing and he began to walk as soon as his feet touched the cobblestones of the road, busying himself by adjusting his cuffs. He assumed quickly, as he moved through the hustle and bustle, that by the haughty, smug expressions and glossy silver and gold hair that he was somewhere in Raiaera. Reminding himself of his master's animosity of the elves, Dan turned his head and spat at once on the ground. A few who noticed cast him dirty looks, but the hungry, angry looks he gave back turned them away swiftly.

A cigarette found his sneering lips and it was lit with a spark that left this plane as swiftly as it was created. Finding a good bar anywhere in Raiaera was next to impossible; it was all aged wine and frothy flavored coffee and fancy imported tobaccos, things for the educated and full of themselves. 'What a bunch of assholes,' he thought with a huge grin, and the sting of hypocrisy hit him immediately. His daughter missing from the wrecked rubble, the enemy clear, and here was off in the wrong place, looking for some booze? He stopped in the middle of the street, an elf bumping harmlessly against him. Face twisted as though in great turmoil, Dan let out a harsh breath and cursed loudly, paying little attention to the hooded figure leaning against the tavern on his left.

Spotting a harried looking young man in a brown traveling cloak, Dan snatched a map out of his hand. When the man objected, the Saraelian simply planted a hand on his forehead and shoved him roughly into the gutter with a splash. Again, his face screwed up in anger and frustration. "How the fuck did I get to Trenyce?" He roared, shaking the map but not letting go of it. He jabbed at the map, at its compass rose, and made a number of odd motions with his forefinger and thumb.

"Shit, I gotta get back," he muttered past the cigarette, still gazing angrily at the map. "Not like Dirks is gonna kill himself. Ha!"

[Zephyriah]

Darkness had descended upon the city like a god, devouring the light of the previously sanguine and canary colored sky. Children that could once be heard playing in the streets of the lively Raiaeran city had faded away, retreating to the safe comforts of a warm home and cozy bed. Residential doors were triple locked with the added protection of bars having already been fastened over the windows. An influx of hardened Bladesingers and Tel Aglarim warriors multiplied the policing numbers from the earlier, safer shifts and patrolled the streets wearing facial expressions that suggested even the slightest offense would receive the full brunt of elven law and punishment.

Observing the precautionary routines of the city’s denizens as well as the movements of the soldiers was astonishing, but it clearly showed the mindset of the people in this metropolis and also displayed the dangers entailed here. Treynce was certainly no place for the righteous or upstanding.

On cue, the real unsavory looking characters began pouring into the roads as streetlights powered by Raiaeran magic illuminated the busy sectors of the city. Daytime establishments closing down for the night gave rise to nocturnal facilities joyously irradiating their store signs and opening their doors to willingly accept the dregs of elven society. Some dwellers appeared to be of slightly better quality, wishing to wash away the pain of day with alcohol, and drown in inebriation. Perhaps a walker of the darkness even desired a partner for the night. Such was possible given the horrendous chaotic situation that Xem’zund had thrown Eluriand and subsequently the rest of the continent in. A one-night lover might’ve served as the temporary cure for many broken hearts.

Amongst the amalgamation of people though, I remained stationary, having not moved an inch from my position against the tavern. The drunken eyes of carousers had set on me as they entered and exited the bar, but not a single soul dared to start to get entangled in a quarrel with me. The armor, the sword, and the menacing gazes were enough for them to get the message and persist in traveling in whatever direction their destination lied. The only individual that I would allow to even approach me was the man that’d said he’d meet me here. Nearly an hour had passed and there wasn’t a canary cloaked fellow in sight. “Argh…..I should cut off each of this guy’s fingers for every hour that he makes me wait.” But the moments those thoughts entered my mind, someone matching Slender’s description rounded the corner of Starslayer Street and came before me.

“You sure know how to make someone wait.” I scowled, not carrying in the least bit to greet this tardy individual appropriately.

“If I recall, I never gave you a specific time,” His response was equally caustic. Pulling the hood of his cloak back revealed a black haired warrior with a face as rough and stern as the soldiers that marched the nighttime streets. With bright blue eyes, Slender stared right at me with the look of a man that’d been through centuries of battles.

“Anyway, I will get straight to the point since there isn’t any time to waste. The letters that I sent to you were from a man whom has dealt with you in the past, Raizo Steelfist. He commands you to do his bidding yet again and act as his weapon to bring about a new change, a new order in the world. Compete in the Conquest Trials and he shall reveal to you the truth about your father and his…….death.”

Steelfist. The name rang louder than a thousand bells, and blared with the booming force of a thousand trumpets. He’d been the initial cause behind my mother’s previous disappearance, utilizing the tactics that he was using now. The clenching of my jaw showed my indignation, but to lash out uncontrollably now would invite several nearby Bladesingers to award me with unwanted trouble.

“Heh, it’s just like Raizo to send his henchmen to do his dirty work,” Lifting off from against the tavern wall, I tightened my cloak, preparing to walk away from Steelfist’s pawn. Yet before I took the first step off of the pub’s platform, I shot a threatening gaze toward Raizo’s minion, looking at the equally tall man at eye level. “Feel free to tell him that he won’t get me to be his marionette. I played that role once before and I will not do it again. And if he does decide to implement the same….strategy to coerce me to do his bidding, let him know that I’ll be paying him a unkind visit.”

“So that is your decision,” Slender shook his head in a disappointing fashion. “If only you knew how little control you actually had.”

Instantly, the enigmatic figure disappeared, leaving nothing but a weak pillar of smoke. My eyes quickly scanned the perimeter to see if he was anywhere nearby, but no traces of him could be seen. An unsettling feeling wrapped menacingly around my heart, forcing me to worry about the well being of those that I cared for. “Let Raizo touch one hair on the head of any of my loved ones........my blade will savagely dismember him!”

* * *

Meanwhile, in another area of the city, Slender kept a very close eye on Dan Lagh’ratham. Everything was going according to plan, especially since both he and Raizo knew that Zephyriah would refuse. An extensive background check had been done on the Saraelian demon to the point where Steelfist and his cohort familiarized themselves with the life of Lagh’ratham better than any relative could’ve done.

“The time is now…….”

Out of nowhere, the one known as Slender appeared before the hefty warrior.

“You are looking for your daughter, are you not?” Slender didn’t wait for him to respond since he already knew the answer. “If you desire to know her whereabouts, then chase the fire of the crimson one!”

As quickly as he disappeared away from the half drow, was a quickly as he disappeared away from Dan. He was sure that the bruiser would not decipher his cryptic statement, but nor was it intended for him to do so. Instead, his mission was to plant the seed and allow Raizo’s plan to grow their wicked roots.

Suddenly, a large explosion engulfed the sector of the city that Slender had met Zephyriah in……….

[Christoph]

Zephyriah wins by default due to Slayer's failure to post.

This match goes to Vice.